The daughters of distant fathers, when they're little, don't know about biology and cultural bias and incest taboos and gender rol...e and economic downturns and all the buzz words of sociological, anthropological and psychological mitigation. All they know is that Daddy isn't there as much as Mommy . . . Daddy is simply the silent partner.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
When a man's partner's killed, he's supposed to do something about it. It doesn't make any difference what you thought of him, he ...was your partner and you're supposed to do something about it. As it happens, we're in the detective business; well, when one of your organization gets killed, it's, it's bad business to let the killer get away with it. Bad all around. Bad for every detective everywhere.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Whist Partner: Great Caesar's Ghost. A woman! In the Club. Phileas Fogg: My dear, I must ask you to leave these precincts at ...once. No woman has ever set foot in the Club. Aouda: Why not? Phileas Fogg: Because that could spell the end of the British Empire.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past,... I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste. Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow. For precious friends hid in death's dateless night And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone. And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling,... Give me juicy autumnal fruit ripe and red from the orchard, Give me a field where the unmow'd grass grows, Give me an arbor, give me the trellis'd grape, Give me fresh corn and wheat, give me serene-moving animals teaching content,LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
(O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my cries, I see my own soul trampling down what it ask'd for.)...
Keep your splendid silent sun, Keep your woods O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods, Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn-fields and orchards, Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields where the Ninth-month bees hum; Give me faces and streets--give me these phantoms incessant and endless along the trottoirs!LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »